When you are raised by immigrants, you don’t get sick days. My parents worked no matter what regardless of how they felt. Even though my mom was a homemaker, this included her. She fulfilled her responsibilities no matter what. What that meant was that we went to school even if we weren’t feeling good. One day I had the stomach flu in 2nd grade and was throwing up all night and that morning. I asked if I could stay home but the answer was no. My mom looked at me and said, “If you are not feeling good go to the bathroom and throw up.”
So get to school and everything is okay until after snack time. My stomach was acting up and I had to throw up. When I am sick I lose all maturity and intelligence. I go to the bathroom and my mom’s face pops up like Yoda saying, “Just throw up in the bathroom.” I stand there looking at the sinks to my right and the toilets to my left. I couldn’t remember whether I was supposed to throw up in the toilet or sink. This is how my mind processed the event…
“Where am I supposed to throw up?”
“The toilet? That seems gross. Putting my head where people go poo poo and pee pee. That doesn’t make sense at all.”
“The sink. That makes more sense.”
So I puke into the sink. As I try to wash it down the drain it dawns on me that throwing up in the toilet was the choice that made more sense precisely for this reason. Oh well, can’t cry over spilled milk. So what do I do?
“Ahhhh. GROSS!!! Teacher! Someone threw up in the sink!”
She gets really upset and asks the class who did this. I stand next to her glaring at the class like a self righteous pig.
Wonder where my kids get the creativity to get out of trouble?